


According to Jim

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Len gets pretty good at deciphering the things that come out of Jim Kirk's mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	According to Jim

**Author's Note:**

> Genderswap fic with female!Kirk.

According to Jim, it doesn't bother her at all that there are so many unsavory remarks about her, etched into the walls of the unispecies lavatories all over campus. Some are oversexed and raunchy ( _For a good time, call James Kirk_ ) and some are indignant and vengeful ( _Jim Kirk is an intergalactic SLUT_ ), and Len's no handwriting expert, but he can often tell which appear to be scrawled by males and which ones by females, and there's definitely a healthy helping of both.

She says it doesn't bother her at all, which means he doesn't try to stop her when she uses the lavatory outside of the gymnasium, where there's a particularly nasty comment on the door of the first stall. But he's also not surprised when she exits, her normally fierce blue eyes a little duller than usual, her gait missing its characteristic bounce.

"Come on," she says, tossing her thick hair back and adjusting the strap of her gym bag. "I could use a good run."

"A run'd be good," he agrees, following her.

*

According to Jim, she can totally handle herself in the worst of the city's dive bars, the one where every yokel, dirt bag and foul-smelling cave dweller just evolved from his backwater planet's primordial ooze thinks he's entitled to a piece of her. But Len still not-so-subtly suggests one of them back away from her when he dares to put his slimy—literally slimy—fingers on one of her thighs.

"Jesus, Bones, I can take care of myself," she insists. Then she turns to the slimer and smiles thinly. "Not interested, thanks. And you owe me some credits for the dry-cleaning bill for my dress."

The guy says nothing in response, only flicks out a massively long snake's tongue, which spirals in a strange pattern in the air. Jim gapes and then kicks him right in the spot where Len knows the guy's genitals reside, and where Jim must know too, thanks to the xenoanatomy elective she took. He doubles over and Jim grabs her bag in one hand and Len's wrist in the other, ushering him to the door.

"What was that about?" he asks. He may know anatomy, but interpreting interplanetary tongue language is quite another thing. Jim, of course, is well versed in it all.

"On his planet, that particular tongue gesture means _I want to fuck your eye sockets_. I may get around, but I'm not that kind of girl."

Okay, Len concedes. Maybe she _can_ handle herself.

*

According to Jim, she doesn't mind that she's under disciplinary suspension and won't have the chance to zoom off to Vulcan and single-handedly save the galaxy from the dastardly hands of evil, mouth-breathing Romulans.

Which is obviously just _bullshit_.

So he goes and he gets her on that goddamn ship.

*

According to Jim, this Spock guy's a puppy dog with a bow on his tail. Which, of course, means he ends up marooning her on some godforsaken ice planet and nearly choking the life out of her on the _Enterprise_ bridge, because Jim's smart about a lot of things, but she's not always the best judge of character.

Or maybe she is—because in the end, Spock ends up falling for her charms, just like everyone else, asking permission to be her first officer with his Vulcan tail wagging excitedly behind him.

It doesn't stop Len from chewing Spock out in between, though, nor does it ease his guilt over the fact that he didn't do more, that he let the pointy-eared bastard treat her that way in the first place. He knows Jim can handle herself but she doesn't always have to prove it like _that_ , in the wrong time and the wrong place, where Len can't do jack shit about it.

She finds him in his temporary quarters once all the excitement's over, strolling in through the opened doors with a slight limp, more than a few cuts and bruises and a wide, easy grin.

"So, I hear you think I'm a 'prize stallion,'" she says. Len turns about fifty different shades of red.

"It wasn't my greatest attempt at metaphor."

"No, unless you think I'm secretly a man. Which would explain why you've never come on to me."

Before he can respond—though, really, he couldn't even begin because there's just too much to say—she takes a seat beside him on his bed, leaning over to softly and awkwardly kiss his cheek. Len swallows hard. She's even more of a force to be reckoned with, now that she actually _did_ save the galaxy, and yet she looks like the same James Kirk he's always known—maybe even a little smaller than before, all hunched and curled up beside him.

"Thanks," she finally says. "For breaking the rules for me."

According to Jim, rules are meant to be broken. He learned that from her. So he figures she can't really complain if he leaves all the rules in the dust once again and leans in and kisses her plush mouth.

She doesn't.

*

According to Jim, this away mission's going to be a cakewalk.

Which means he's hovering over her broken body, splayed out on a Sickbay exam table only a few hours later, fighting the clock with every tool he has to stitch her back together again.

Which means she's bleeding so much that even with his gloves on, he thinks the skin of his hands is going to be stained red with her forever.

Which means he's going to lose her.

"Fight, damn it, _fight_ , Jim!" he barks down at her, _orders_ her, because damn it, _someone's_ got to pull rank on her around here once in a while, and thank the lord that it's him because he needs to on days like this—days that seem to go on without end, marked only by the futile push of his palms against a struggling heart, too weak to beat on its own.

Until they do end, the final seconds of the day slipping by with the slow but steady beeps of a monitor, attached to a once-good-as-dead woman, somehow brought back to life despite grim prospects. Len watches and watches the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she miraculously continues to breathe and wishes he could lay his head down there, if only for a moment. Instead, he just holds her hand with both of his, running thick fingers over her long and graceful ones, curled delicately in his grip.

When she opens her eyes hours later, he doesn't know whether to kiss her or lecture her. She just smiles with her (still plush) bloodied lips and laughs at him.

"Bones, I _told_ you; I can handle myself."

"Except when you need me to handle you."

"That's true," she says on a sigh. "Sometimes I do."

And though she may deny it later, that the words ever left her mouth, according to Len, it's the sweetest thing Jim's ever said.


End file.
